A Gold Medal for Prim
by DearElla
Summary: Katniss is an Olympic archer dealing with a family tragedy when she meets a fellow Olympian who comforts her. A retelling of the Hunger Games series through four Olympic Games. Modern AU
1. Beijing 2008

I claim no credit to anything you recognize from the Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and Mockingjay. All of that is due to the amazing Suzanne Collins.

A/N: In case this helps, Olympic archery events take place the first week of the Olympics. In Beijing that was from the first Friday (before the Opening Ceremonies) through the next Friday. The women's competitions start first and then finish first with the women's team finals taking place a few days before the women's individual finals on Thursday. This chapter starts on the Tuesday of the first week and ends on the Tuesday and Wednesday of the second week. Men's freestyle wrestling doesn't start until the second week of the Olympics. The Olympic Green is the park constructed for the Olympics that includes the Olympic Village and the archery field. The wrestling matches took place away from the Olympic Green at the China Agricultural University Gymnasium about a five to ten minute drive away. Water polo games occurred at the Ying Tung Natatorium, about a fifteen to twenty minute drive away.

* * *

Beijing 2008

 _Katniss_

The arrow hits the target, and my heart sinks.

A 7. It's not good enough.

As my score registers amongst the other teams and spectators, cheers rise from the crowd and Glimmer Harkinson of Canada celebrates her victory with a fist pump to the sky.

I swallow hard and feel my coach rub my shoulder sympathetically. I exchange a glance with him, and he smiles sadly. Cinna knows how important this was to me.

And now I'm not even advancing to the semifinals.

Cinna gives me a gentle nudge, and I reach my hand out to my competitor. We shake hands briefly and then walk of the archery field. As we head down to the waiting rooms beneath the stands, I abruptly hand Cinna my bow before bolting out the back door.

I run flat out, weaving through bystanders, the filthy Beijing air stinging my lungs. I'm still a long way from the Olympic Village when I dart down an empty alley. I crouch against the wall, eyes streaming, trying to stem the awful choking sounds I make when I sob. But I'm left in peace, as most everyone around here is at the swimming events in the stadium a few hundred yards away. I cry bitterly for a few minutes until a nearby back door opens, and an athlete comes out, slinging his gym bag over his shoulder. I hastily wipe my eyes and turn my face away from him, hoping he'll leave me be. He doesn't.

"Hey," he says, concerned. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," I say irritably. "I'm fine." I toss my braid over my shoulder and wish that he would just go away.

Instead he crouches down next to me. "Did you just compete?" he asks, obviously noticing my uniform. I pull off my finger tab and clutch it in my hand, but I leave on my arm guard and chest guard.

"Yes," I say shortly.

"Archery?" he asks.

I roll my eyes. Anyone can see the bow and arrow logo on my archery polo shirt. "Yes," I say again.

"Ah," he says, as if this explains everything.

I narrow my eyes at him, but he doesn't elaborate. Why can't he just go away? Before I can stop myself, I huff out, "I lost. Won't medal."

"I'm really sorry," he says sincerely.

We don't say anything for a moment. He looks at the ground, and I stare at the finger tab in my hands.

"You've worked so hard, trained for years," he says slowly. "It's hard when - "

"No, you don't get it," I interrupt fiercely. "This isn't about me. I was supposed to medal for my sister. I promised I would bring home a medal for her. She - she has cancer, you see."

The crushing weight of my failure presses down on me again, and I squeeze my eyes shut, bringing my clenched hands to my face.

"I just thought it would help," I choke out from behind my hands. "Motivate her through chemotherapy. Give her something to-to be excited about. She's only sixteen." To my horror, I begin to sob again. Why am I telling him all this?

I feel his arm go around my shoulders, and I immediately push back, scooting away, blinking back tears.

"I'm sorry," he says, hands raised to show he won't do it again. "I'm sorry," he repeats.

I just nod.

"What's her name?" he asks gently.

I look over at him. His face is sad, brows drawn together with concern. He's dressed in an unmarked tracksuit, but he seems to be American. His ashy blond hair is damp as if he has just showered, and he's clean-shaven. His eyes are blue, and they're gazing intently at me.

"What?" I say, forgetting what he asked me.

"What's your sister's name?" he asks again, kindly.

"Prim. Primrose," I sigh. Just saying Prim's name causes more tears to leak out of my eyes. I rub them away with frustration.

He unzips his gym bag, pulls out a gym towel, and hands it to me.

"It's clean," he says softly. "Used a different towel at training earlier."

I grimace, but accept the towel, and gratefully mop my face with it. It's nice, this towel, soft and surprisingly fluffy.

"What's your name?" he asks quietly.

"Katniss." I stare at the ground.

"I'm Peeta," he says. He begins to proffer his hand for a handshake, but then pulls back, probably remembering earlier when I pushed him away.

"I better go," I say hurriedly. I stand and brush off my khakis.

He's startled, and I run off before he can follow.

It's not until I'm at the door of my building in the Olympic Village that I notice I'm still holding the towel. I curse under my breath. He had been too kind and giving, and I realize that I never even thanked him. I owe him. I hold the towel up and see that a word is embroidered on the bottom.

 _Wrestling_

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

Startled, I turn to see Gale sliding onto the seat beside me.

"Watching the wrestling matches," I answer with a shrug. "Why not?"

Gale looks out across the wrestling mats and the grappling wrestlers below.

"Think it's worth the cost of the tickets?" he asks skeptically.

"Sure, whatever," I say. "What else should I do with my time?"

"I don't know - gymnastics or diving might be more interesting. Besides, there's the parties at the Olympic Village."

When I don't respond, Gale asks, "Do you even know anything about wrestling?"

"No," I say, getting annoyed. "Do you?" I ask, turning to him.

He just smirks at me.

I focus my attention back on the mats.

Gale doesn't speak again for while. We're alike, even down to the grey eyes and dark hair, and we understand each other's silences. We have been bumping into each other for a several years now on the archery competition circuit. He is a couple years older and an excellent archer. I'm better, though, and he knows it. He's nearly as upset about my loss as I am.

"How's your family doing back home?" Gale breaks the silence.

"Hanging in there," I answer.

He nods.

Gale has aspirations for a dream USA archery team, but that certainly hasn't come to fruition for Beijing. None of us can compete against South Korea, and I am literally the only person on the U.S. women's archery team. No one else qualified. It was bad enough that I lost to Glimmer when I outrank her. I know Gale is already speculating about the next Olympics, but he's not admitting it. Not when he knows I'm still upset about Prim.

He runs a hand through his hair, and asks, "Heading back to college soon? You'll be a junior now?"

"Yes," I say and actually give him a smile.

His eyes soften and a smile breaks across his face.

"You've graduated now, haven't you?" I ask quickly, looking away.

"Yeah," he shrugs. "In May."

"Congratulations," I say quietly. "What's next?"

"Just focusing on archery as much as possible."

"Good," I say with a grin.

Gale grins back.

Sometime later, "Peeta Mellark, United States of America" is heard over the loudspeakers. I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I see Peeta make his way to the mat furthest on the right and crouch down to face his opponent. They clasp hands for a second and then begin to wrestle. They twist and turn and flop out of bounds. The ref calls them back and they start again.

Gale sighs and rises from his seat. "The cost of these tickets is ridiculous, but I'm ready to head out. Want to head back for the Olympic Green?"

"Nah," I shrug. "But don't let me stop you."

Gale shuffles his feet. "How much longer do you want to stay?" he asks.

"I don't know, just a little longer."

"Fine," he says with a small smile. "I'll wait."

I shrug again, and I can sense that it hurts Gale, but I don't say anything. I wish he wouldn't make things awkward between us. My only focus is Prim now. I don't have time or interest for a relationship.

"Ouch," says Gale, watching the mats below. I wince. Peeta's face was smashed into the mat, and his nose is now bleeding. "He's getting clobbered," Gale adds. Mercifully, the round ends, and Peeta has lost. He good-naturedly shakes his competitor's hand, smiling while trying to stem his bloody nose with a small cloth. I get up abruptly, suddenly wishing Gale had left for the Olympic Green.

"We're going now?" Gale asks, standing up.

"Almost," I say, and I quickly jog down the stadium stairs towards the wrestling mats. I'm sure Gale is confused, but I hear him follow me. I make it to the railing at the bottom of the stands that overlooks the mats, where an usher stops me and tells me to turn back.

"Katniss, what are you doing?" Gale asks from behind me.

I crane my neck around the usher and see Peeta and his coach heading off the mats toward the locker rooms. Before I can change my mind, I call out, "Peeta!"

Peeta looks over and sees me. He's surprised, but he moves toward me and looks up at the railing.

"It's okay," he tells the usher. "It's family." Now it's my turn to look surprised. Gale looks completely baffled.

"Family," Peeta repeats firmly, and the usher moves aside. I hadn't been able to see Peeta very well from up in the stands, but up close, it's hard not to notice Peeta's muscular body in his wrestling singlet. I realize that I feel embarrassed to look at him.

"I-I brought you back your towel," I stutter, pulling it out of my bag and dangling it over the railing.

Peeta waves his hand dismissively, but he's smiling. "It's yours, you didn't have to bring it back."

"Please," I urge. "It looks like you need it this time."

He smiles and reluctantly accepts it. "Thanks. I guess you saw…" his voice trails off as he gestures behind him.

"Yeah," I say hesitantly.

"Oh, well," he laughs, pressing the towel to his nose. "I've had worse. Thanks for coming."

"Thanks for... before," I say.

"Of course," he replies with a small smile. His eyes watch me attentively.

"Well, I guess we better go," I say, turning to Gale, who is staring testily at Peeta. Peeta seems to notice Gale for the first time, and he stands a little straighter.

"Well, bye," I add and start to walk away, leaving them both behind.

"Hey!" I hear Peeta call out. I turn around. "Want to meet up at water polo later?"

The men's water polo quarterfinals are underway when I see Peeta making his way toward Gale and I in the natatorium. His nose isn't bleeding anymore, and he's freshly showered and casually dressed. He smiles at me and eyes Gale momentarily, but so briefly I'm not even sure it happened. I feel Gale stiffen beside me, though.

"So," says Gale. "Water polo, huh?"

"The water polo team is just down the hall from me in the Olympic Village," Peeta says. "We've been hanging out the past week. Thought it would be good to support them."

I nod, and Gale asks, "What building in the Olympic Village?"

"D-12," Peeta answers.

"Us, too," Gale says. "We're both on the archery team."

"Cool," smiles Peeta. "We'll have to hang out."

The U.S. team suddenly scores, and we join the American fans in the applause.

"Yeah!" Peeta cheers.

"So where are you from?" I ask him when he sits back. "In the U.S., I mean."

"Washington, D.C. born and raised," he answers with a smile. "How about you?"

"Seattle," says Gale shortly.

"I'm not too far from D.C.," I reply. "I'm from Richmond. Well, just south of Richmond."

"That's great," says Peeta, still smiling. "My family has a bakery in Georgetown that's been in the family a couple generations. I grew up baking with them."

"Really?" I find myself laughing. "You don't seem like a baker."

"What should a baker seem like?" Peeta asks, pretending to be affronted.

"I don't know," I laugh. "We grew up doing archery, so I guess I just assumed you'd have grown up doing wrestling."

"Well, I did a lot of wrestling, too," says Peeta. "First with my brothers, and then more competitively. I'm the youngest, so I was always getting pommeled. I wanted to get back at them so I started learning wrestling, and it paid off, but it took awhile." He gives a laugh, and I find myself smiling at him.

"Yeah, my dad taught me how to shoot," I say. "He worked for U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. We'd go deer hunting in this wildlife refuge only a few minutes away from our house. It's so quiet, no people at all. You're only allowed in the refuge with a permit or reservation. They have deer hunting in the fall, and we always got a permit."

Gale gives me a surprised glance. It's not like me to talk offer up personal details, and I clam up, my throat tight, thinking of deer hunting with my father. We would also dig for roots, pick berries, and bring home medicinal plants for my mother and Prim who are into homeopathic remedies. It was our special time together, just my dad and I. He would guide my hands to hold the bow and draw back the bowstring. His calm voice, his patience in stalking a deer, his silent tread all come rushing back to me, and I squeeze my eyes tight with the fear I might cry.

"You must really miss him," Gale says gently. He rubs my shoulder.

"Yeah," I say thickly. "Thanks."

Peeta's eyebrows are drawn together with concern, his face sad.

"My dad died of cancer when I was eleven," I explain to him with a sigh. "Brain cancer, like my sister has."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," says Peeta sorrowfully.

I nod. Silence descends on the three of us, and I turn my attention on the water polo match to distract myself from sad thoughts. There's a lot of splashing and tossing of the ball back and forth. Then - another goal, but it's Greece's point. The Americans in the crowd groan, but a small contingent of Greece fans near the front jump up and down waving a Greek flag. We watch as the U.S. water polo team redoubles its efforts.

Somehow, I end up on Peeta's floor in D-12 with Peeta, Gale, and the victorious U.S. men's water polo team, partying. Or rather, they are all partying, and I'm standing in the corner clutching a coke, and wondering what in the world persuaded me to come along. Peeta and Gale have seemed to become friends in the last few hours. They're laughing and talking to each other, drinks in hand. Loud music blares from speakers some water polo player has set up in the lounge. Water polo players are... everywhere. A loud shout goes out as a delegation of women's water polo players from Italy show up and dancing begins in earnest.

"Come on, Catnip," Gale teases loudly to be heard over the music. "Let your hair down." He tugs on the end of my braid. "Have a drink."

I reluctantly accept the drink he's holding out to me. Peeta says something to Gale that I can't catch with the loud music, but I hear Gale say back, "Yeah, she does."

"What?" I ask defensively.

"Always wear your hair in a braid," explains Gale.

"I do not," I say, but that's not really the truth. To prove it, though, I pull out my hairband and start to unravel my braid with my fingers.

"Good," says Gale appreciatively. "Now just take a sip…" He raises an eyebrow at my cup. Scowling at him, I take a small sip. "Good," he says again. "Just relax! Have a little fun. She would want you to have fun, Katniss."

I scowl at him, and he pulls on my loosened hair. I know he's right, though. Prim would want me to have fun. "Fine," I say with a huff.

Gale and Peeta crack identical grins.

The water polo players are getting pretty crazy, and the arrival of a group of swimmers, carrying cases of beer, leads to a resounding cheer. The music blasts, and the athletes laugh, dance, and drink. I join in as best as I can. One drink turns into two, then three. At some point, I'm standing on the coffee table coerced into singing karaoke.

 _You and me together,_

 _Through the days and nights_

 _I don't worry 'cause_

 _Everything's going to be alright._

 _People keep talking_

 _They can say what they like._

 _But all I know is_

 _Everything's going to be alright._

 _No one, no one, no one_

 _Can get in the way of what I feel for you_

I sing, thinking I am definitely not drunk enough for this.

"Hey, you have a great voice." Peeta says coming up behind me when I've finished. His voice sounds casual, but I'm taken aback by the intensity in his eyes. My sarcastic thanks die on my lips, and I say thank you sincerely. To my horror, I find myself blushing. For some reason, I feel inordinately aware of Peeta. He seems larger and more present somehow. I watch his throat as he tilts his head back and swallows some more of his beer. Our eyes meet, and mine flit away nervously. It must be the drinks. It's not long after that I make some excuse and head back to my dorm room for the night, trying to clear my thoughts.

The next morning, I raise my hand to knock on Peeta's door when I notice a large sock on the door handle. I jerk my hand back like it's been burned. An array of conflicting emotions swirl through me - I'm upset that betrayal is one of them - but I settle on anger as I walk away. As I storm past the lounge that's littered with the remnants of last night's party, I hear soft snoring, and I turn to see Peeta sound asleep on the couch. I'm taken aback, but after a moment, I give an annoyed huff of relief. I even find myself smiling as I go over to him.

"Peeta, Peeta," I say softly. I gently shake his shoulder.

His lashes flutter open. "Huh? Oh, Katniss," he says, blearily. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm leaving for the airport," I say back. "I thought I'd say goodbye."

"Oh," he says. "Oh, you're leaving?" He sits up quickly and rubs his eyes.

"Yeah," I say. "I stayed a few extra days to see The Great Wall and so on. But I have to go home now."

"Oh, okay," he says. "Thanks for coming to say bye."

"Sorry I woke you up," I smile. "And thanks for being so nice to me. You know - last Thursday? I was pretty upset."

"Of course," he says earnestly. He puts his arm around my shoulders and this time I allow him to embrace me. He hugs me tight, my head nestled into the crook of his neck.

"We should meet up again," he says as he releases me. "I mean D.C. and Richmond? That's not far apart."

"Sure," I smile, and he beams.

We exchange phone numbers before he pulls me into his arms again.

"I'll miss you," he says, his voice near my ear.

"I'll miss you, too," I say automatically, but I realize that the words are genuine. I really will miss Peeta. Hopefully this isn't the last time we see each other.

I feel him kiss my cheek, once, then twice. I pull away to look at him, our faces close together. He looks slightly embarrassed but not apologetic. Almost before I realize what I'm doing, I lean in and softly kiss his lips. He kisses me back gently, and I feel a stirring in my chest. Warm and curious. The feeling builds as we kiss for a handful of moments. All too soon, Peeta pulls back. I straighten up, trying to clear my thoughts.

"I guess I better go," I say somewhat breathlessly. "I need to grab my luggage."

"Goodbye," he says quietly. His eyes have that intensity again.

"Goodbye," I whisper. I can still feel his lips on mine as I walk away.

I go downstairs to retrieve my luggage, and I find Gale waiting for me with a tense expression on his face. My stomach flips with a sudden, strange anxiety. "Do you have something with Peeta?" Gale cuts to the chase.

"No," I say immediately. My only focus is Prim, I remind myself. But I think of Peeta's kiss, and I start to feel confused. Gale can sense my confusion. He narrows his eyes at me. We don't say anything as I grab my roller suitcase and reach for my archery equipment duffel, but Gale picks it up for me. He walks with me to the elevator and rides down to the lobby, then waits with me for the shuttle. "Thanks," I say, but the tension is palpable. And awkward.

Then suddenly, as the shuttle pulls up, he takes my face in his hands and kisses me. You would think that after all the time I've spent with Gale - watching him talk and laugh and frown - that I would know all there was to know about him. But I hadn't imagined how thrilling his lips would feel pressed against my own. Then he lets go and says, "I had to do that. At least once."

And then he's gone.

I'm completely flustered and confused as I carry my luggage onto the shuttle. As the shuttle drives away, I sit and stare at the retreating Olympic Village, heavyhearted.

* * *

 _Two months later..._

 _Tuscarora Archers Star FITA in Frederick, Maryland_

A row of targets set along the edge of the forest take a battering of arrows. Autumn leaves litter the ground. Prim, warmly dressed in a pink coat with a knitted hat, claps happily at my score. The pink coat brings out the blue in her eyes and highlights the golden braid on her shoulder. Despite her hair thinning from chemotherapy, it can still make a nice braid. The cold brings out a rosiness to her cheeks, and I encourage her to sit down again for the millionth time that day. She waves me off, rolling her eyes. Over her shoulder, I notice Peeta walking towards us. I give him a wry smile and nudge Prim as he joins us.

"Wow," Prim says simply.

I shoot her a warning look. She ignores me.

"Nice to meet you, Peeta," she says extending her hand.

He smiles warmly and shakes her hand. "Nice to meet you, too, Prim."

When Prim heard that Peeta would be coming to my archery competition, she suddenly showed an interest in coming, too. It's hard for me to deny her anything, but her reaction is making me wish she had stayed home.

"So you're an Olympian wrestler?" Prim asks, eyes bright.

Peeta laughs. "Just barely," he says. "Katniss watched me get crushed in my first match. I was pretty much out of the competition as soon as I got there."

"I'm sure that's not the case," insists Prim. "Besides you're one of the best to even get to the Olympics."

"So-so," Peeta shrugs, selling himself short.

"He was the youngest on the team," I interrupt. "Only twenty."

Peeta gives me a look of surprise.

"What?" I say. "It's true."

"Wow," says Prim again.

Peeta and Prim chat nearby while I participate in the tournament. I try to focus, but it's hard as I eavesdrop. My hand freezes on the bowstring when I hear Peeta casually ask about Gale. Prim replies readily that Gale is not at this tournament - he's home in Seattle - but I can hear something else in her voice. I look over at her to see her give me a coy smile. I scowl back. Definitely should have left her at home. Later, she hisses in my ear, "You should totally go out with him, Katniss! Wear that green dress you never wear." I just shoot her another warning look as Peeta comes back from the concession stand with snacks in hand.

After I finish shooting, Peeta leads me away from the competition, maintaining a conversation in which I need only nod or offer one word responses, and soon we're alone at the edge of the archery range. He presses me gently against a tree. "I've missed you," he breathes as he leans in to kiss me.

His lips are eager, but I kiss him back mechanically, and he freezes.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," he says pulling back. "I just thought… Is it Gale?" he interrupts himself, trying to hide the look of hurt on his face.

"No," I say immediately, and I think how I said the same thing to Gale. I blush, feeling ashamed. "It's… Prim."

"Oh," he says. I feel him relax.

"I just, I just have trouble focusing on anyone but her," I stammer. "She needs me."

"I understand," he says gently, but I can see the tension in his jaw. "You're a wonderful sister to her." He smooths back a strand of hair and tucks it behind my ear. I feel myself relaxing into the gesture.

"I'm sorry," I mumble.

He heaves a sigh and squeezes my hand. "It's okay," he says. An awkward silence descends. "Well, I hope we'll hang out again soon," he adds. "This has been nice." He fingers the end of my braid before giving me a smile and turning to walk away. I grab his hand and pull him back, unable to let him go.

"I missed you, too," I say softly.

He pauses, then turns around, his hand still in mine.

"Stay with me," I manage to say.

He nods. "I'm here for you, Katniss," he says. "You must be under a lot of strain. I don't know how you do it."

 _By pushing people away_ , I think. But I can't manage to say those words. Peeta seems to understand, though.

"I'm here for you, Katniss," he repeats.

I look down at our feet and say, "Thanks." I glance up at him. A corner of his mouth quirks up.

We walk back to the archery tournament together, hand in hand, somewhere between friends and something more.


	2. London 2012

Thank you for reading! I will have a new chapter once a week.

* * *

London 2012

 _Katniss_

I'm more determined and more frantic than I ever was in Beijing as I await my turn to shoot. Prim was… worse than usual when I left for London. She's even in the hospital, but she wouldn't hear of me missing the Olympics. "If you don't go, I'll go," she threatened playfully. Then she added, "Please. Let me live vicariously through you. It's all I want." I couldn't refuse. For once I'm grateful the archery events take place so early in the Olympics. I even already bought my plane ticket back home as soon as the women's individual competition wraps up on Thursday. I'm desperate to bring a gold medal back with me. For Prim.

I step forward, and pull back the bowstring, setting the site on the target. A deep breath, and my fretful thoughts still. Another breath, and, on the exhale, the arrow flies to the target with a soft thump. A 10. The crowd claps, and I give a relieved smile. The women's team is going to the finals.

As I head to the locker room, I glance up at the stands for Gale's lean figure. I'm surprised to see Peeta sitting next to him. I guess they're still friends, even if they haven't seen each other since Beijing. I give them both a small wave, and then I make a phone gesture to Gale and mouth the words, "Any news?" He shakes his head.

I nod, relieved.

I had made sure to get an international phone plan before leaving, and Gale had thoughtfully asked for my phone to keep an eye on it while I competed. In case I got a call from the hospital back home. I have to say it's a comfort to have someone do that for me, so I can focus.

As I leave the locker room, Gale and Peeta are waiting for me. They each give me a brief hug, smiling, murmuring congratulations. I reach my hand out for my phone, but Gale says, "Let me hold onto it for you. Just until you get through the finals tomorrow. It'll help you focus."

I purse my lips, but say, "Sure. Thanks."

This year we actually have a full women's archery team. A sixteen-year-old archery prodigy has joined us as well as an excellent collegiate archer. Rue and Madge are just what this team was missing. Plus the South Korean team is inexplicably not as good this year. We might actually have a chance at gold. So might the men's archery team. Gale is beside himself with excitement.

Both Gale and Peeta are in the stands for the women's finals the next day, too, watching as we eliminate our competition and progress to the gold medal round. Whoever wins, gets gold. Whoever loses, gets silver. It's amazing that we're guaranteed a medal. I'll finally be bringing home a medal for Prim. I just hope it's gold.

It is.

As Rue lets the last arrow fly, her 9 ensures our gold medal. Madge, Rue, and I leap for joy, laughing and hugging one another. We're victors. As we stand on the platform, holding our bouquets, our gold medals shining on our chests, I smile and cry, thinking of Prim, and how I didn't fail her this time. I think of my father, too, and how proud he would be. The anthem plays, and I sing along, overjoyed.

Outside the locker room, Peeta hugs me so hard he lifts me off my feet. I laugh, and he beams. But Gale is somber and offers no congratulations.

"Call your mom," he says, swallowing hard. He holds out my phone.

"What?" I whisper, taking the phone.

"Call your mom," he only repeats. His face falls. "I'm so sorry." Before I can say anything, he walks away.

"Oh my God," I say shakily, dread coursing through me. I swipe open the phone with trembling fingers and call my mother. Peeta stands beside me, silent and concerned.

"Katniss?" my mom answers. "I've been trying to get a hold of you!"

"I'm sorry, Mom," I say, starting to cry. "I was just competing. What's wrong? Is Prim - is she okay?"

"Katniss, I have been trying to get a hold of you since yesterday," my mom says angrily.

Disbelief and horror grip me. "What?" I gasp out.

"It's Prim. She had a grand mal seizure yesterday. The doctors said we needed to put her into an induced coma to reduce the swelling on her brain. She - she's not going to wake up, Katniss." My mom gives a sob, but continues, "we were calling so you could - could say goodbye before they put her under."

"Oh my God!" I exclaim. I start to hyperventilate, and I sink to my knees. Peeta kneels down, too, looking frantic.

"We had to put her in the coma already. You need to come home now, Katniss. Before she - before the end," Mom says with a sob.

"Yes, I'm on my way," I gasp and hang up.

"I have to go to the airport," I say to Peeta.

"Of course," he says, eyes wide.

"Right now. Prim's dying, and Gale," I force the words out, "Gale took away my chance at a goodbye."

"What?" Peeta exclaims, distressed.

"Heathrow Airport," I say.

"Yes, yes, of course," Peeta stammers.

Peeta and Cinna accompany me, with only my purse and passport in hand, to the airport. Cinna will take care of bringing me my luggage and archery equipment after the Games. The flight staff at Heathrow go above and beyond to ensure I'm on the next flight to America. I'm not sure if this has to do with the gold medal still wrapped around my neck or my sister dying or anything else, but I feel relieved that I'll be back in Richmond by tomorrow morning. The next flight isn't for four hours, though, and Peeta and Cinna guide me to an airport cafe before I go through security. Peeta buys us each a cup of tea and some cookies, but no one feels like eating. I'm numb inside. There is a quiver, though, somewhere in the vicinity of my heartbeat, that tells me there is a deluge of grief waiting to engulf me. I can't give into it yet, though. Or I will dissolve into a puddle right here in Heathrow airport.

We sit in silence, their companionship more meaningful than words. After more than an hour, they walk me to the security line. Cinna hugs me firmly. "Go see your sister, Girl on Fire," he says. "The team will be thinking of you… and her." He pulls back, and there are tears in his eyes.

"Thanks," I say thickly. "I'll see you when you get back."

He nods. "Of course."

Peeta wraps his arms around me and holds me close. "I'm so sorry, Katniss," he says softly. He releases me, seems to hesitate a second, then traces a finger down my cheek. His blues eyes gaze into mine, and I can see the sorrow there. He is grieving, too.

"Thank you for everything," I say, trying to hold back tears. "You - you mean a lot to me, Peeta."

He smiles sadly.

"Good luck with your Olympics next week," I add, before turning to join the security line.

Peeta and Cinna hover nearby until I'm out of sight.

As the flight takes off, the lights of London twinkle below. It's Sunday night, and I've forfeited my place in the women's individual competition rounds taking place later this week. The gold medal for the women's team competition is heavy on my chest, on my heart. This gold medal has cost me so much, and it wasn't worth it. It had all been for her, for Prim, and now she'll never even know about it. Gale sacrificed my last chance to speak with her so that I could win a gold medal. So the U.S. archery team could win a gold medal. I find myself thinking of Gale, of what he did. How he chose Olympic gold over the final conversation I could have with my sister. How his choice is unforgivable.

She's in her coma when I arrive breathless and distraught at the hospital on Monday morning, and she never regains consciousness.

Prim dies seven days later.

I hold her hand until the end, whispering to her how much I love her, how Dad is waiting for her, how it is okay to let go. Her organs quietly fail her on Sunday, and her last breath leaves her ravaged body with a sigh. I wait fearfully for the next breath, which never comes. The heartbeat monitor flatlines, and a simultaneous sob bursts from my mom and me.

* * *

 _Peeta_

I feel a determination stronger than I've ever felt as I go into the freestyle wrestling semifinals. It's almost an anger. Or it _is_ anger. It's unlike me, but I decide to embrace it as I face Marvel Karvelis of Lithuania on the mat. We grapple, legs straining, and neither of us is making headway. I angrily push at him, and he gets me into a headlock. I wriggle free, but tumble onto the mat. Anger is clearly not working, and, chagrined, I think how it's not right for me to honor Prim's memory with anger. No matter if I'm angry that she suffered and died, too young and full of promise. She wouldn't want me to be angry. I take deep breaths, releasing the anger. With an exhalation, I flip him over and pin him.

I've made it to the finals.

I know I'm outmatched when I have to face Cato Vlaslov of Russia. The only advantage I think of as we make our way to the mat is that he must be hungry. Cato is a big guy, the kind of guy that would naturally weigh much more than the 74 kilogram weight limit. It is a lot of work for a wrestler to maintain their competition weight, and Cato must have to work especially hard at it. He's a powerful wrestler, but he must be famished.

We grasp hands by way of a handshake before we begin, and I'm a little uneasy by the maniacal expression Cato gives me. It's probably meant to intimidate me, but I decide to think that he's even hungrier than I had initially thought. The thought gives me a boost as we face off. I artfully keep myself away from getting pulled into his grasp as we circle one another, ever so often smacking the other's head or shoulder with our hands. He makes a lunge for me, and I twist away, circling again. I keep dodging him, increasing the pace, before I decide to try and get him tired by grappling. We lock arms and push against one another, with Cato trying to mess up my footing. I carefully keep my feet away and pour my energy into pushing him. Cato is repeatedly trying to trip up my balance, and it's starting to distract him. I let it go on for a few moments, and then the next time he glances down to my feet, I lean back, causing Cato to barely stumble forward, gripping me, against the sudden lack of resistance. I hastily take advantage of his loss of balance and slam him into the mat. I scramble onto his back and lock his legs beneath my own, my arms wrapped around his shoulders to hold him down. Wrestling is all about exploiting opportunities.

I'm soundly smashed into the mat by Cato the next round. He seems furious, and I'm a little dazed when I pull myself up. Nothing I'm not used to, but when I stand I feel the searing pain in my thigh. Must have pulled a muscle or something. Hopefully nothing worse than that. We're tied now, but I can see his smug grin from where I'm being tended to on the sidelines. He thinks he's got this. I try not to limp as I head back to the mat. Cato is clearly confident as we face one another again. Immediately, I painfully spring forward in a double-leg takedown, and it's all over. I'm almost surprised how easy it is.

A reporter pulls me aside before the medal ceremony, but all I can think about is Katniss and Prim. How Prim deserved so much more. How distraught Katniss must be. I get through the medal ceremony, managing to feel a measure of pride as the gold medal is awarded to me. Tears trickle down my cheeks. I fend off more reporters as I leave the arena. I need to get to the airport right away. I only hope that I'll be in time for Prim's funeral tomorrow.

* * *

 _Katniss_

It's a hot, sunny afternoon when we scatter Prim's ashes. I'm sweating in my green dress, feeling a confusing combination of hate and gratitude for the nice weather. Nothing should be nice on the day Prim is gone forever. But she would want it to be sunny and pretty, and it is. Pine needles crunch underfoot as the group of mourners make their way through the woods of the wildlife refuge. When we reach the meadow, we cross slowly to its center. It's lovely with light pouring through the trees. Lovely and _humid_. I flap a listless hand in front of my face for a breath of air, but it's useless. Sweat trickles from my hairline, frizzing my hair despite my braid. Perhaps it's the constant sweating, but I can't seem to cry. I've been crying ever since I got back to Richmond. Perhaps I've finally run dry. I wish I could cry some more. It helps alleviate the crushing pain that's been ever present in my chest since she died. Other than this pain, I'm having trouble feeling anything. Anything but pain and emptiness.

"Here we lay Primrose Everdeen to rest," says the reverend. "In this beautiful place with her father."

My chin trembles, but no tears come.

"Her life is now a treasured memory, her absence a silent grief. A lovely soul, who touched the lives of those around her…"

I screw my eyes shut tight and stop listening. Maybe those tears are coming after all.

"Now for her ashes - " The reverend gestures to my mother, standing beside me, who grips the pewter urn so tightly her fingers are white and bloodless. She seems frozen, unable to do what she must.

Loud footsteps suddenly stumble onto the edge of the clearing, and everyone looks around to the source. I look, too, and see _Peeta_. We stare at each other for a moment, eyes wide and unblinking.

My mother finally manages to move, but she just pushes the urn into my hands. "Please," she whispers. I jerk my head into a nod and take the urn. I carefully, gently unscrew the lid. A song, unbidden, rises to my lips, and as I scatter Prim's ashes, I sing,

 _Deep in the meadow, under the willow_

 _A bed of grass, a soft green pillow_

 _Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes_

 _And when again they open, the sun will rise._

 _Here it's safe, here it's warm_

 _Here the daisies guard you from every harm_

 _Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true_

 _Here is the place where I love you._

 _Deep in the meadow, hidden far away_

 _A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray_

 _Forget your woes, and let your troubles lay_

 _And when it's morning, they'll wash away._

 _Here's it's safe, here it's warm_

 _Here the daisies guard you from every harm_

 _Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true_

 _Here is the place where I love you._

My voice, at first rough from grief and breaking on the high notes, warms up into something splendid. I tremble on the last few notes, the urn empty. Prim is now part of the meadow. Along with our father. I straighten and turn to the crowd, who I now notice is weeping. Our friends and family offer shaky smiles, drying their eyes, murmuring at my song. I walk slowly towards them, until my knees seem to fail me. I sink down slowly and sit in the grass, sweating, the open urn clutched in my hands. The crowd converges on me, petting and comforting me. Someone holds a water bottle to my lips. Another presses a damp cloth to my forehead. An umbrella provides some shade. I decide to just lie there, my eyes staring at the black underside of the umbrella. After several minutes, I overhear fragments of nearby conversations: "Better move her," "Must head back," "Is she alright?" then, "I'll take her." Arms reach under me and lift me up.

I jerk to attention to demand, "Put me down."

"You sure?" Peeta asks, carrying me to the path leading back into the woods. Most of the mourners are already walking back.

"Yes," I say forcefully.

He sets me down gently, and I turn to face him. He's sweaty, too, his button-down damp, his hair limp. I see that he's wearing a brace on his left leg. I take in his black tie and slacks and the black suit coat hung over his arm, then find myself saying, "You must be hot." I wince at my words.

"Yeah," he answers, concerned. "You must be, too." He raises the back of his hand to my forehead to check my temperature, like I'm about to faint.

I wave him away. "I'm fine," I insist.

"Okay," he replies, but it doesn't sound like he believes me.

I walk off ahead of him, and I hear him follow me with a heavy tread. I idly think that he would make a bad hunting partner, or maybe it's the brace. Then something occurs to me.

"It's Saturday," I say, stopping abruptly. Peeta stops as well, looking confused.

"Yes," he agrees hesitantly. He's watching me warily as if unsure of my mental state.

"You'll miss the Closing Ceremonies," I accuse, my eyes narrowing at him.

"Yes," he says slowly.

"Why would you do that?" I interrogate.

He gives me a look of disbelief, then scoffs, "Miss being here to be at the Closing Ceremonies? You're kidding me, right?"

I try to figure out what's so obvious, but I don't feel like I have the energy to. So I shrug my shoulders and continue walking. We walk in silence, Peeta's loud footsteps a distraction to my thoughts, but as we near the road that leads out of the wildlife refuge, I think I realize something.

"You," I stammer, stopping again. "You care about me."

"Of course," Peeta says easily, though his eyes watch me cautiously.

"You love me," I continue. The words are out there now, but perhaps I can blame it on heatstroke if I'm wrong.

"Yes," he says simply.

"Oh," I say, blinking rapidly as I try to absorb this information. I search around inside myself for how I feel in return. But all I feel is the pain and emptiness.

"It's okay, Katniss," he sighs. "I don't expect you to - "

I step forward and reach my hands around his neck to pull him down to me for a kiss, hoping to feel something other than misery. But I don't. Peeta must think I _am_ mentally unstable, because he gently pulls my hands from his neck and takes a step back, my wrists in his hands. I promptly burst into tears and sob all the tears that have been missing today.

I become such a hysterical mess on the drive from the wildlife refuge, that when we arrive at my mom's house, Peeta carries me upstairs, past the arriving mourners. I'm set down in my bed where I wail until my mother sticks a spoonful of sleep syrup in my mouth. I choke and splutter, but I feel relieved as my eyelids start to droop.

"There," says my mom. Her voice trembles. She leaves the room, but I don't hear her go downstairs. Instead, her footsteps retreat to her bedroom, and I hear her door close. Peeta starts to leave as well, but I catch his hand and hold him there.

"Don't go yet. Not until I fall asleep," I say.

Peeta sits on the edge of the bed, holding my hand. "Okay," he says.

I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint scent of pine needles and grass from the woods. I can feel myself slipping away, so I just get out one more sentence. "Stay with me."

As the tendrils of sleep pull me down, I hear him whisper a word back, but I don't quite catch it.

It's morning the next day when I wake up and head down the hall to Prim's room, the house empty and quiet. I go into her closet and pull all the clothes off the hangers until I have a nest that I bury myself in. I close my eyes and breathe in her scent, my eyes tearless again. The grief is overwhelming, and I burrow down into the clothes until I'm hidden from view, cocooned in memories and loss. I lay there until there's a tentative knock on the closet door, and I feel myself being gently unwrapped. Our neighbor, Gracie Sae, murmurs comforting words as she gets me to sit up and follow her downstairs. She sits me down at the kitchen table before going to the fridge to pull out one of the dozen or so casseroles in there that people have been bringing by. She microwaves me a plate and sets it in front of me with a glass of milk. Ms. Sae has been doing this all week for my mother and I, bringing or cooking us food or preparing something in our fridge. She cooks, we consume. I glance across the table to my mother, who stares at her untouched plate. It's then that I notice her suitcase and purse and her hands twisting in her lap.

"I can't be here, Katniss," Mom says, looking away from me. "I'm going to take that job offer from the hospital in California. I - I don't know when - "

"Or if you'll come back," I finish for her, suddenly understanding. Ms. Sae freezes at the sink where she's washing dishes, her back still to us.

Mom looks at me, wide-eyed, but doesn't deny it. The memories of my mother's deep depression following my father's death come to the forefront of my mind. It was only Prim's diagnosis that pulled her out of it. Prim, whose blue eyes and golden hair were so like my mother's - not the dark hair, olive skin, and grey eyes that I shared with my father. I was an ever-present reminder of the husband she lost. I, in turn, resented her detachment, her helplessness. Now I feel that same resentment, always simmering beneath the surface, return fully, and my jaw tenses. Prim was the glue that held my mother and I together. Now that Prim's gone, there's nothing to keep Mom here.

I look down at my plate. "Go then," I say. "Have a safe flight." The words sound flat, expressionless.

She gives a nod, then steps toward me and hesitantly puts her arms around me. I don't respond, and she steps back. "Goodbye," she whispers. "Thank you, Gracie," she adds quietly to Ms. Sae's back. She grabs her suitcase and purse and leaves. The door closes softly behind her.

The sting of her abandonment lingers. I stare at the casserole. Even Ms. Sae seems at a loss for words. She squeezes my shoulder sympathetically, and then she brightly suggests I check my phone for messages. It's been on silent for days. I shrug, ignoring her suggestion, but she sets my phone beside my plate. Ms. Sae finishes doing the dishes, hugs my shoulders, and then heads upstairs. I hear her return to the closet she found me in and start hanging up clothes. After a few minutes of pushing around the casserole on my plate with a fork, I sigh and reach for my cellphone. There's a horde of missed calls and a full voicemail box. I scroll through the missed calls. Family, friends, Cinna, Madge, Rue, and Peeta, included. Nothing from Gale.

I click on the first voicemail from Cinna.

" _Hey, Girl on Fire. Can't stop thinking of you and your family. I am so sorry, Katniss, for all you're going through. My deepest condolences. You have such strength. You are an inspiration to us and the rest of the team. Know that we love you, we're here for you. Prim was such a treasure. The world isn't the same place without her…"_

I close the voicemail and click on the next one.

" _Hey there, Girl on Fire. Now I completely understand that you will probably not want to do this - and that's okay - but you at least need to know. The archery team is going on a press tour once we get back to the U.S. We'll be going to interviews across the country and promoting the team. It's an opportunity to gain sponsors, but don't worry - any sponsors we get, we'll work to include you, too. Okay? Take all the time you need. We love you, and we are thinking of you and your family."_

I shake my head, and click on the first voicemail from Peeta.

" _Hi Katniss. It's Peeta. I am so sorry for your loss. I can't imagine the pain you must be feeling, and I will be there as soon as I can. Prim was a wonderful person, and her loss is a tragedy. I know those words are inadequate, but I am truly sorry for what you are experiencing right now. I'll be there soon - to be there for you."_

I swallow hard, then I realize I don't even know what happened with Peeta's wrestling Olympics. Chagrined, I quickly Google the results on my cell. Freestyle Wrestling 74 kg results: Peeta Mellark, United States of America - Gold. I freeze for a moment. Peeta won gold. He hadn't even mentioned it. I quickly click on a video highlight from moments after the final match.

" _Peeta Mellark, congratulations. You must be so proud. What's going through your mind right now?"_

 _Peeta is smiling, breathing hard. "It's a lot to take in, but I'm so glad that I could win gold... to honor the memory of a friend who died earlier this week." His face twists in pain._

" _Whose memory are you honoring?" asks the reporter, putting on a sympathetic face._

" _For Prim," is all he says._

 _The reporter presses for more details, but Peeta just smiles sadly, saying he needs to get to his medal ceremony._

" _Of course," agrees the reporter. "Congratulations again."_

 _Peeta walks away, and the reporter turns to the camera to sum up._

But I've stopped watching. I can still hear the words "For Prim," reverberate in my mind. I look through my missed calls, and notice there are three from Peeta just from today. After some hesitation, I call him. It rings and then goes to voicemail. I sit and stare at my plate, listening to the sound of coat hangers being hung up in Prim's closet. As Ms. Sae comes down the stairs, there's a knock at the door.

It's Peeta.

"You're back," I say.

"Drove back just now," he says. "I baked you this." He holds out a loaf of bread. I give Peeta a nod of assent and let him follow me to the kitchen where he introduces himself to Ms. Sae. She makes Peeta a plate of leftover casserole too, pats my shoulder, and leaves for her own house down the street.

"Sorry I missed your call ten minutes ago," Peeta says. "I was almost here, so..."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I interrupt, staring at my untouched plate.

"What?" he asks, confused.

"About winning gold," I say, glancing up at him.

"Oh, that," he says. He runs a hand nervously through his hair. "It, uh, didn't seem like the right time."

"Congratulations," I say softly, my eyes locked on his.

"Um, thanks," he says, looking back at me. He smiles sadly. I blink and look away. "So Gracie Sae seems nice," he continues, scooping up a forkful of casserole. "She must be a great neighbor. Where's your mom?"

I purse my lips. "My mom left. She'll be in California by the end of the day."

"What?" Peeta chokes.

"We haven't gotten along well, you know that," I shrug. If our friendship the past four years has meant anything, he would have known the strain between my mother and me.

He nods. "But still," he says, eyebrows drawn together.

"She's probably not coming back," I add indifferently, poking at the casserole.

Peeta is silent. I hear him heave a sigh and look up to see him running his hands anxiously through his hair again. "Well, shit, Katniss..." He sighs again and reaches across the table to put his hand over mine. "I don't like the thought of you being alone." I pull my hand back, still clutching the fork, and poke vigorously at the casserole. "It's just... ugh!" Peeta exclaims. I look up at him, surprised at his reaction. What's he getting at? "I'm already committed to doing a press tour for the next few weeks," he says, eyes downcast.

Oh. _That._

"That's fine," I say. My voice sounds distant, uninterested. "Cinna says the archery team is doing one, too," I offer. "He says I don't have to go, if I don't want to."

Peeta latches onto this information. "Katniss, what if you... would you want to come with me on the press tour?" His voice softens. "I just don't want you to be alone."

I'm silent, thinking. I had initially not considered going on the archery team press tour, but Peeta is right. The alternative to not going is being alone. I'm not the type to reach out to family and friends for anything, and I can sense that I am on the brink of another stage of grief, more heart-wrenching than the hollowness that consumes me now. The survivor in me is searching for a distraction to stave off this encroaching anguish.

"Yes," I say, making my decision and looking up at him. "Let's call Cinna and see if we can combine our press tours."

* * *

A/N: Just to clarify: The 2012 women's archery finals and medal ceremony took place on the first Sunday of the Olympics, July 29th. The women's individual archery finals were on Thursday, August 2nd, but, of course, Katniss left the Olympics on Sunday after the women's team finals and forfeited her place in that competition. The freestyle wrestling 74 kg finals occurred on the last Friday of the Olympics (August 10th), before the Closing Ceremonies on Sunday, August 12th. Prim died the Sunday before that on August 5th, and was laid to rest on the Saturday before the closing Olympics, on August 11th. The wildlife refuge that keeps getting mentioned actually exists; it's the James River National Wildlife Refuge. Clearly, I've manipulated the actual Olympics results with fictional characters. The U.S. did win gold for freestyle wrestling 74 kg with Jordan Burroughs in London. Of course, South Korea won gold for the women's archery team, although the U.S. men's archery team did win silver.


	3. Victory Tour

Victory Tour

 _Katniss_

We've been put in a swanky condo that overlooks the skyscrapers of downtown Los Angeles several miles away. It's smoggy and hot, but the apartment is pristine and luxurious. Peeta, Cinna, and I arrive together, having shared a flight from D.C. While Peeta and Cinna put their luggage in their bedrooms, I run my fingers along the smooth white leather of the couch.

"So you're the archer," says a gruff voice. I look up from my spot on the couch to see a paunchy, middle-aged man. "The gold medalist, huh?" he continues.

"Yes," I say somewhat defensively. Something about his tone rubs me the wrong way. He sits down next to me, and I resist the urge to get up and walk away.

"I'm sorry about your sister," he says, his voice softening a bit. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a flask. He offers it to me with a raised eyebrow. I scowl and shake my head. He shrugs and takes a swig.

"So sweetheart," he says. "You'll be tagging along with us on this victory tour, huh?"

I roll my eyes, feeling prickly about being called 'sweetheart.' "Looks that way," I answer. "And don't call me sweetheart."

"Sure thing, sweetheart," he says, getting up and smirking at me. He takes another swig as he walks out onto the patio, sliding the glass door shut behind him. I doubt he's watching the sunset.

Peeta comes into the living room and notices my expression. He grins. "So you've met Haymitch," he says. "My coach."

"Guess so," I say, unsure how to feel about his coach. "How exactly did he help you win a gold medal?" I add sarcastically.

"Well, he didn't do it on his own," says Peeta. He sits down and nudges my knee with his. He still has the leg brace on. "I helped a little, too." He gives me a smirk, not unlike Haymitch, but then his smile disappears. He gives me a concerned look to see if it's too soon to be funny. I roll my eyes again. Honestly, it's a relief to have someone acting normally, when inside I feel like such a wasteland.

The front door's lock clicks, and Effie Trinket lets herself into the condo, wearing magenta trousers and a matching suit coat. It's her second colorful getup since I met her earlier today at the airport. I'm still in the same worn skinny jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers that I wore on the red-eye flight last night. Effie is some sort of network liaison who gets talk show guests where they need to be. She trots over to us, beaming, and then runs over the week's schedule for our time in Los Angeles in an upbeat, chirpy voice that grates on my nerves.

"It's been an exhausting day," Effie wraps up, "So be sure to get plenty of rest tonight because it's a big, big day tomorrow!"

She joins us for dinner that is brought in from some fancy restaurant. We sit at the dining table, and I see Peeta eyeing my plate. I don't have much of an appetite, but I give him a look and stick a forkful in my mouth and swallow. He nods approvingly and turns his attention to his own plate. Cinna rubs my shoulder affectionately and gets me to join in for dessert. The chocolate cake is delicious, but it sticks in my throat. Prim loved chocolate.

Peeta stays up to watch TV, but the rest of us say an early goodnight and head to the bedrooms. Effie wishes us goodnight and reminds us that she'll be back "bright and early!" before she leaves the condo for her own home. Cinna says he needs to check in with Madge and Rue, who are with the rest of the archery team in New York City doing a joint press tour. When I asked to join Peeta's tour, Cinna made it work out, although Madge and Rue will be doing interviews without me in New York. Cinna insisted on coming with me, though. Part of me thinks he's relieved that I won't be near the men's archery team. I won't have to see Gale. The networks seemed delighted to have me join the press tour with Peeta, probably thinking of it as a two-for-one gold medalist deal.

Peeta, Haymitch, and Cinna have wordlessly left me the master bedroom to myself. I tiredly shower and brush my teeth in the master bath, before putting on pajamas and crawling into the king-size bed. Despite the general success of this distraction from my grief, I can't manage to fend off the encroaching despair of facing a life without Prim. It is worst at night. Nightmares assail me, taunting me with Prim before pulling her away as she screams for me. I awake screaming, too, only to sob with loss. Peeta hears me weeping and manages to calm me down.

"Shhh, Katniss," he soothes. "You're not alone. I'm here."

Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I let him into my bed every night. Wrapped chastely in each other's arms, we fend off nightmares and loneliness.

During the daytime, Effie shuttles us off to a few tapings of talk shows, game shows, and news segments. We're styled and primped backstage, then pushed onstage to chat about the Games, our lives, and whatever else anybody wants to know. Fortunately, the topic of my sister is off-limits. Cinna made some deal with the networks to not discuss Prim or her recent passing, for which I am grateful. I couldn't possibly talk about her, and it is hard enough answering the TV host's questions. Whenever Peeta is onstage with me, I rely on him to communicate for me as much as possible. He's easygoing and eloquent, charming each TV host and the audience with winning simplicity. He even plays along with the Ellen Degeneres show's request for him to wear a wrestling singlet under his clothes, which he then dresses down to for a humorous wrestling match with somebody in a mascot bear costume. Thankfully, I'm only asked to shoot a few Nerf arrows through hoops, or, one time, 'hunt' for gold medal animals on Jimmy Kimmel Live. The week wraps up, and soon we'll be heading to New York City for some more appearances and photo shoots.

"Are you alright?" Peeta asks gently, coming into my room from the bathroom, having just washed off the makeup. He asks me this question several times a day. His hair is still stiff and styled, and he rubs his hands through it to loosen up the gel.

"Yeah," I say indifferently from where I sit against the headboard. I tug at the fake eyelashes glued to my eyelids.

The bed shifts. "Careful," says Peeta, gently pulling my hands away from my eyes. "Don't want you to rip out your eyelashes."

"Ugh," I say annoyed. "Nobody even has eyelashes this long. Well, except you," I add, rolling my eyes at Peeta. In the past week, I've become a little fixated on his eyelashes, which ordinarily you don't notice much because they're so blond. But up close, in the moonlight slanting in from the bedroom window, they're a light golden color and so long I don't see how they keep from getting all tangled up when he blinks.

He blinks now, surprised, and raises a hand to his eyelashes like he's never thought of them before. I laugh, and he smiles, pleased. Later, as we lie together in the massive bed, I can't even imagine laughing. Silent tears leak out of my eyes, and I choke out, "I miss her so much."

"I'm so sorry, Katniss," Peeta whispers, tightening his arms around me. I nod and feel myself start to fall asleep. Hopefully, no nightmares tonight.

No such luck. I wake with a scream, crying for Prim.

"Katniss!" Peeta exclaims, shaking my shoulders gently. "I'm here. I'm here."

"Prim," I sob.

"I'm so sorry, Katniss," says Peeta. A drop hits my shoulder, and I glance up at him. He's crying, too.

"Oh, Peeta," I sigh. For several minutes, we just cry together.

"I'm sorry," I hiccup. "I didn't mean to make you cry, too."

"I miss Prim, too," says Peeta.

"Do you remember," I pause, trying to gain my composure and cheer Peeta up, "Remember when we took Prim to that football game? She left her glasses in the car..."

"And couldn't see the football during the game," Peeta finishes. He chuckles.

"Yeah," I sigh and close my eyes to drift off to sleep again. I feel Peeta brush a soft kiss onto my forehead.

The next morning we are all packed off to New York City where we're put in another posh apartment in a Midtown high-rise. Effie stays in Los Angeles, but assures us that a car will pick us up for each publicity stunt, and that she "just knows that we will always be on time!" Haymitch seems to take Effie's absence as an excuse to become even more slovenly. He lolls about the apartment leaving a trail of trash and paraphernalia in his wake, which Peeta meticulously picks up and disposes of or puts away. I find their dynamic odd, but don't say anything. Neither does Cinna.

Later, though, as I crawl in bed and Peeta joins me, I start to ask, "So you and Haymitch…"

Peeta sighs, pulling up the covers. "Yeah, sorry about the way he's acting. He's just… he's been through some stuff. He also hates New York."

"Hmmmm," I murmur vaguely, already losing interest as I lie back to fall asleep. "You're just… so different, the two of you, I guess."

"You'd be surprised," Peeta answers, also vague. "We've been through similar experiences."

I'm quiet, turning over his words in my mind, wondering. Is he talking about his mother? Peeta's mother has been abusive and cruel, and while I used archery as a way to feel closer to my father, Peeta used wrestling as a means of escape, pouring hours of time into the gym and spending weekends away at wrestling tournaments. He leapt at the chance to go away to college with a full-ride wrestling scholarship. He never moved back home after college, finding an apartment for himself in D.C., in order to work at the bakery when he's not training. I chose to stay at my mom's house after I graduated, to be near Prim.

Peeta glances over at my face and sighs. "Yeah, it's partly her," he says, confirming my thoughts. "But Haymitch has been through worse. He was a tough wrestler, and he really injured a guy once. He's never quite gotten over it. He's rough around the edges, but all he wants is to coach his wrestlers to be more careful."

"He must really love you then," I say. "You're the most caring person I know."

Peeta seems strangely at a loss for words. Probably because his horrible mother gave him the opposite of loving attention. So I wrap my arms around him in a hug and shyly press a kiss to his cheek. He turns his head, surprised, and caresses my face. He hesitates a moment, then gently guides my lips to his and kisses me softly. A warmth blossoms within me, and it's such a heady feeling, so different from the painful void of my grief, that I press my lips firmly against his and deepen the kiss. I feel his arms tighten around me, and a sigh comes from his throat. I sigh in return, running my hands across his shoulders and his arms, stroking his biceps. Peeta begins to heatedly kiss my neck and shoulders, and the warmth transforms into a burning that spreads from my core into my fingers and toes. I groan and pull him closer, but Peeta resists.

"What are we doing, Katniss?" he stammers. When I don't respond, he sighs and looks away. I roll over, my back to him, my blood cooling, the grief returning stronger than ever.

We are ready on time in the morning for the black SUV that picks us up and delivers us to where we'll be part of a photo shoot for a fashion magazine. But we discover that we're the first models to arrive. We're supposed to pose with actual fashion models, but neither the fashion models nor the other Olympians have shown up yet. The stylists and makeup artists descend on us anyways. I'm surprised as they apply minimal makeup and simply straighten the braided waves of my hair so that it hangs straight and loose to my waist. Any excitement or relief I may have experienced from having little makeup and hair-styling vanish when I see the dress they have for me to wear. It's a ballgown with swaths of ruby red taffeta, but it's the bodice I find most upsetting as it's transparent. It's only made modest by scraps of burgundy velvet that barely cover the bodice and sleeves like vines or flames. My protestations practically cause a riot.

"It's Marchesa!" shrieks one of the stylists, aghast.

I'm finally forced into the gown, and I angrily arrange the fabric leaves to cover my exposed breasts then pull my hair over both of my shoulders to better hide my chest. I strangely begin to laugh, and I feel myself slipping into an eerie sense of unreality, as the idea of me being upset at my revealing couture gown is absurd when my sister suffered and died two weeks ago. My laughter unnerves the stylists who warily put heels on my feet and send me off.

I'm pressured into a photo shoot with Peeta by a bored photographer, still waiting for absent Olympians and fashion models. Peeta's mouth had comically fallen open when he saw me, making me nervously check whether my hair was sufficiently covering me. They've put Peeta in a crisp, navy tuxedo and left his wavy hair alone. We look appropriately patriotic together. The photographer puts us in various poses, but he's not pleased with the material we're giving him until he has Peeta in a chair with me sitting on his knee, my gown arranged to cascade around my feet. He sets Peeta's arm to wrap around my waist.

"Great!" says the photographer. The camera clicks rapidly. "Love it. Look at the camera, please. Yes. Love the surliness! You're a natural!"

"What?" I say indignantly and Peeta laughs.

"Brilliant! Perfect," says the photographer, clicking away. Then he stops with a wistful sigh. "It's too bad they'll never use these shots." He thanks us and heads off.

Olympians and models have finally started to arrive, and some are done with hair and makeup. They mill about in haute couture, waiting to be directed into a photo shoot. The crunching hits my ear before I even know he's beside me, and when I turn my head, Finnick Odair's famous sea green eyes are only inches from mine. He pops a sugar cube in his mouth and leans forward. I stumble back a couple steps, self-conscious about my dress.

"Hello," he says, as if we've known each other for years, when we've never met. I'm sure he has no idea who I am.

"A sugar cube?" I find myself saying. "Really?"

"Want one?" he says to both of us, offering his hand, which is piled high. "They make great snacks, especially when you don't want anything stuck in your teeth. I'm always hungry."

Finnick Odair is the world's most decorated Olympian swimmer and something of a living legend. He's an incredible athlete, but what no trainer could claim to have given him was his extraordinary beauty. He won several gold medals at his first Olympic Games in Sydney when he was only sixteen, and the world has been drooling over him ever since.

"No, thanks," I say to the sugar, as Peeta shakes his head, jaw tight. "Interesting outfit, though."

He's draped in a golden net that's strategically knotted at his groin so that he can't technically be called naked, but he's about as close as you can get. I suppose he's used to it from wearing speedos all the time.

"Yours too," he says to me, with a smirk. Peeta intervenes.

"They're calling for you," Peeta says stiffly and gestures to a group of photographers and stylists waving for Finnick to come over. Finnick tosses another sugar cube in his mouth and saunters off.

Peeta and I are split up soon after that for our own separate photo shoots, which thankfully go by quickly. I'm relieved to remove the dress and head back to the apartment.

We continue the next few days like we did in Los Angeles, making appearances at some talk shows, though I have more downtime than Peeta does, as the archery team already covered most of the late night shows the previous week. I wander around the city when Peeta is gone, trying not to think of Prim and thinking of nothing else. Since the kissing a few nights ago, it feels like the pain and emptiness have condensed into a visceral wound in my chest, barely contained in my cracked heart. It takes a lot of energy to keep myself together, and I'm vaguely concerned what I might descend to when the press tour is over. No Prim. No Mom. An empty house. The Olympics are over, Prim is gone, and there will be nothing to pour my energy into. No distractions. Only memories and loss. Peeta would lose it if he knew what I was thinking, so I keep my thoughts to myself.

We soon head to the capital, to finish the press tour with a live interview on the Caesar Flickerman show and a visit to the White House. Caesar Flickerman has hosted the most popular live talk show in the nation for years, and it's common for Olympians to be interviewed by him while in Washington, D.C. to attend the gathering of athletes at the White House after the Paralympics finish. It's one last, big chance to attract some sponsors, before meeting the president and going home. Peeta lives in D.C., so hotel arrangements weren't made for him. He seems strangely nervous to be back in his hometown, and asks if he can stay in the hotel with us. It seems hardly necessary to ask when we've been sharing a bedroom for a while now. Peeta, Haymitch, and I are surprised when we find Effie Trinket awaiting our arrival in the lobby, although Cinna seems to have expected her and even gives her a peck on the cheek.

"Can't miss out on all the fun!" she exclaims. Apparently, almost all the networks will be covering the Olympians' White House visit, and Effie came along with the rest of the newscasters. She tells us that she's gotten attached to us and wanted to make sure we were all ready to go before our "super special interview tonight!" She has a garment bag in her hand that she unzips theatrically. I catch a glimpse of red taffeta and immediately say, "I'm not wearing that."

"Oh, Katniss," Effie sighs dramatically. "You have to wear it. It's gorgeous! Besides, Cinna chose it for you and asked for me to pick it up and bring it. He said you would wear it."

"Cinna, you - _what_?" I fumble. I catch his eye, and he smiles warmly at me.

"He has excellent taste," says Effie appreciatively, gazing at the dress. "He told me how he has worked for sports fashion, but I had no idea his know-how extended beyond athletics."

"Well, I guess..." I stammer.

"It's the Caesar Flickerman show!" Effie gushes. "You absolutely have to wear it!"

A few hours later, I stand in one of the dressing rooms at the Caesar Flickerman show, looking at myself in the mirror. My hair is pulled back smoothly into a low bun at the base of my neck. The dress is a vivid red taffeta, sleeveless, that comes to my knees. Cinna also picked out high heeled black pumps with flashy gold heels. He hands me the heels, then smiles, saying, "Now, you're really the Girl on Fire."

I can see what he means. The taffeta shimmers and glows like flames. To add to the effect, Cinna gently brushes my eyelids with metallic gold eye shadow. "Now you're like me," he says gently. He closes his eyes to reveal the dusting of gold on his own eyelids. I smile.

"Thanks, Cinna," I stumble for words. "This feels, I feel..."

He grabs my hands in his. "You're so strong," he says. "You deserve everything the world has to offer."

"So did Prim," I say, my face falling.

"Yes, she did," he says sadly. He leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a shiny gold brooch. He pins it to my dress. "The U.S. archery team all chipped in to get you this," he says. "They're all thinking of you."

"A mockingjay?" I ask, turning my head to see it.

"Exactly," says Cinna. "There are a lot of mockingjays in the woods by your home, right?"

"Well, yeah," I say touched at their sentiment. I wonder if Gale contributed, or if this was his idea. "But mockingjays are an invasive species," I continue. "They shouldn't exist in the woods around the James River, even though they thrive there. At least they don't seem to hurt the ecosystem."

"Well, in that case, it doesn't mean they shouldn't belong to where they've adapted," Cinna says gently. He gives me a hug, and I whisper my thanks.

* * *

 _Peeta_

I watch Katniss' interview on a TV backstage as I await my turn in the spotlight. Katniss is stunning as always, but her silver eyes betray some of the sadness that she carries with her. The sheen of her dark hair catches the light, just as much as the shimmer of her red dress and the glinting gold pin on her shoulder. She does her best to focus on Caesar Flickerman and answer his questions, though I can sense the stress and sorrow she is trying to mask. To his credit, he's making it as easy as possible for her to respond.

A chair scrapes across the floor beside me, and I'm surprised to see Finnick Odair sit with me. He buries his face in his hands, and I'm not sure how to react. Odair was interviewed sometime before Katniss, and he had seemed his usual suave self.

"Are you alright?" I ask hesitantly.

"Nah," he says back. "She needs me, and I'm not there."

"Oh," I say, unsure of his meaning.

"She's amazing, really," Finnick rambles. "Just needs... comfort sometimes. The world can be really messed up, you know?" He glances at me, his face strained.

"Yeah," I say. Yeah, I do know.

"My wife," he sighs, and I notice the gold band on his left hand for the first time. "Annie's so tenderhearted, her mind isn't always..." he trails off, then reddens. "I shouldn't be telling you this."

"That's okay," I say.

His jaw tightens. "I just love her - "

"Mr. Mellark?" interrupts a voice. "Curtain call."

"You better go," says Finnick when I pause.

"Take care," I say putting a hand on his shoulder briefly before heading for the stage. I'm rethinking what I thought I knew about Finnick. I hadn't envisioned him married or in love. My thoughts turn to the task at hand as I reach the stage, and the blinding lights focus on me.

"So, Peeta, what was it like when you won the gold medal?" says Caesar, starting off the interview.

"It was surreal, amazing," I reply, smiling.

We start to banter back and forth with me sharing a few amusing anecdotes about wrestling and the Olympics. We have the audience laughing, shouting out, pleased to have an Olympian from D.C. on the show. I play up the baker's son thing, and how the first thing I did when I got back to the bakery after the Games was bake bread. I leave out the part that the bread was for Katniss. It's at this moment that Caesar asks me if I have a girlfriend. I hesitate, before shaking my head.

"Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" says Caesar.

I sigh. "Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her since I met her at the Olympics."

The crowd whoops, and Caesar says, "Another Olympian, then?"

"Yeah," I answer, my cheeks reddening.

"Is she here tonight?" Caesar presses, and I pause too long. "She must be!" says Caesar. "What sport does she do?"

"I - she - " I fumble. "Archery."

The crowd gasps, clearly putting two and two together.

"It isn't the lovely Katniss Everdeen, is it?" says Caesar, eyes wide in mock amazement.

I nod. "Yeah."

"Is it love?" asks Caesar, his hand on his heart for emphasis. The crowd goes silent, listening.

"Yes," I sigh. "I love her."

The news has already broadcast my declaration of love by the time we're back to the hotel, and my Twitter feed has blown up with questions and exclamations. Katniss is silent, and I'm afraid that she's angry. It's too late to take it back, but it seems to have paid off in terms of sponsors. Haymitch mutters that his phone's constant ringing is driving him nuts, and Cinna has disappeared somewhere to keep taking the incoming calls. Katniss lets me follow her into her hotel room, and, as the door shuts, I say, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she says quietly. "You told me before how you felt."

"You're not mad?" I ask, surprised.

"I would've been if I didn't know you so well," she snaps.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," I repeat.

"Let's just get ready for bed," she sighs.

We lie in bed, not touching, and I resist the urge to take her into my arms. My leg is aching, so I focus on that to distract me, like I've been doing for most of the tour. I haven't worn the leg brace for a week, but it is still sore. I hear Katniss sigh, and the bed shifts as she rolls over to face me.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," she says. She squeezes my arm in apology.

"Don't be," I say gently. "It's okay."

She nods vaguely, her fingers tracing patterns on my arm. I focus on the pain in my leg. She sighs again, then lifts my arm up so she can nestle close. She lays her head on my shoulder, and I wrap my arm around her.

"You really love me?" she whispers.

"Yes," I say.

She places a hand on my chest, and my breathing stutters for a moment before resuming normally. But then her hand slides up to my face and caresses my cheek. I swallow hard, unsure how to respond, and I glance over to her for some explanation, but her face is calm, her grey eyes trained on mine. She leans in to kiss me.

"Katniss," I say, breaking away after a few moments. "You - "

"Shhh," she hushes and kisses me again before I can say anything. I start to get lost in the kissing. Both of my arms wrap around her and grip her tightly. I feel her leg slide over mine, and the responding pain in my thigh brings me back to reality.

"Katniss, I'm not sure that - "

"I want to," she whispers, and my jaw drops. But then she blushes, pulling away, stammering, "But you don't want - I'm sorry - I shouldn't have - I'll just"

She starts to get out of bed, and I grab her hand and pull her back, flush against my chest, my heart hammering. "Of course I want to," I assure her breathlessly. "But - you really want to?" I ask confused. 'You're grieving. Isn't now not - "

"Yes, I do want you," she answers, her voice catching. "I need you."

I'm suddenly dizzy as a confusing maelstrom of emotions fight for dominance. I try to focus. "Katniss, I just - I didn't know things were like this between us... It's not too soon?" Strange words since we've known each other for four years, but we've toed the line as primarily friends... most of the time. This feels like an abrupt change in our dynamic.

"I trust you, Peeta," she says, and I wonder if this is what I need to hear. Is her trust enough when what I want is her love? "I trust you," she says again as she kisses me. An exhilarating fusion of love, joy, and desire overcome me, and I decide her trust is enough for now.

* * *

I awake in the morning with her arms around me, sound asleep, and my heart soars. But when Katniss wakes shortly after me, she won't meet my eyes. An intense awkwardness descends between the two of us as we get ready for the White House reception, and all my happiness from the night before evaporates.

We're at the White House south lawn bright and early as hundreds of Team USA Olympians and Paralympians gather. We're all garbed in matching t-shirts with an American flag emblazoned across it and varsity-style jackets, and it becomes a sea of athletes, milling about or taking a seat on the scaffold set behind the president's podium. Large tents scattered across the lawn promise a feast after the president's remarks.

Katniss and I stand next to each other observing the hubbub when I hear her give a gasp, and she slips her hand into mine. It's then that I see Gale. He's seen us, too, and he freezes for a moment, his grey eyes wide and pleading. My jaw tightens, and I glance at Katniss in time to see her shake her head at him. Gale sighs, looks away, and disappears into the crowd. Katniss is trembling, and I feel a surge of anger toward Gale, but I just squeeze Katniss' hand gently and suggest we find a seat. She nods mutely, then cheers up when we reunite with Madge and Rue to sit together.

I try to listen to the president's speech, but my mind keeps going back to Gale and what he did. How he hurt Katniss. Then my mind turns to last night and what it means for Katniss and I. How she said she needs me.

It's not until we're back at the hotel, that it occurs to me that I might not be able to be there for Katniss. Despite being surrounded by Olympians, I had temporarily forgotten what it means to be one of them. Haymitch's presence at the hotel reminds me that I'm already gearing up for four more years of training for the next Olympics. Wrestling is a rough sport. It ages you. Injures you. I probably only have one Olympics left in me. Haymitch has already drawn up workout schedules and booked time in Nebraska and Colorado for training. My heart thumps unevenly, as I wonder if I can be who she needs, and I recall Finnick's words from the night before.

 _"She needs me, and I'm not there."_

Even now, as Katniss will head home to Richmond, I'm heading to the Midwest to do a few speaking engagements at colleges. My heart sinks. As I start to pack up my things, I'm startled from my thoughts by a sudden kiss from Katniss. I instinctively pull her into my arms to continue the kiss fervidly. She breaks away to pull off her t-shirt, and I freeze.

"Katniss..." I say hesitantly, breathlessly.

"Do you want to?" she asks me, her eyes pleading.

"Yes," I answer honestly, my heartbeat going into overdrive. "Do you?"

"Yes," she breathes, her lips crashing back against mine.

* * *

 _Katniss_

The taxi drops me off at my mom's house. My house now, I suppose. The press tour is over, well for me at least. Peeta is on a plane to Des Moines now to give a few talks at Midwestern colleges. He seemed worried for us to part ways, saying that he'll see me again as soon as he can. I think of how we've become so intimate since last night, and I know I don't regret it. Other than Prim, Peeta means the most to me, and I wonder what the last twenty-four hours mean for us.

Someone has cleaned the house. Gracie Sae probably. There's a stack of letters on the kitchen counter, with one set aside from my mom, addressed from California. I sit in the recliner just off of the kitchen, clutching my mother's letter. The rest of the house looms empty and dark, and I feel myself giving in to the anguish that I've been staving off with the press tour. It's a relief, really, to not have to expend so much energy to hold myself together. Sorrow consumes me. The wound in my heart becomes a scorching pain as I weep, then a smoldering burn as I cry myself out. I fall asleep only to wake screaming and crying from nightmares of Prim's suffering.

Ms. Sae arrives in the morning and clucks her tongue at my bedraggled appearance. She makes me eggs and toast and sits there until I've eaten it all. After breakfast, she does the dishes and leaves, but she comes back at dinnertime to make me eat again. She continues to come twice a day to feed me. Other than that, I sit in the recliner and mourn. Sometimes my cellphone rings and rings and rings, but I don't pick up. I let it run out of battery, and I'm startled when it rings again the next day, discovering that Ms. Sae had plugged it in. I don't leave the house. I haven't even left the kitchen except to go to the small bathroom a few steps off of it. I'm still in the same clothes I left the capital in. What I do is sit in the recliner. Stare at the unopened letters piling up on the kitchen counter. Think about Prim and, sometimes, Peeta.

"Have you seen this?" Ms. Sae says one day, lifting a magazine from the pile of mail.

"No," I say, and she sets it on my lap. It's Peeta and me on the cover, and I'm sitting on his knee and wearing that ridiculous dress. I stare fiercely out from the page, while Peeta's face is turned towards mine, laughing at my expression. Guess they used those shots of us after all, probably booting Finnick Odair off the cover because of Peeta's televised confession. We look extraordinarily like fashion models, and I peer curiously at our figures as though they belong to some other couple. But that is definitely my scowl and Peeta's smile. I feel a strange twisting pain in the region of my heart, and I scowl in turn, pushing the magazine away.

"Fall's in the air," says Ms. Sae. "You ought to get out. Go hunting."

"I don't have a permit," I say to her.

"Check down the hall," she answers.

After she leaves, I consider a trip down the hall. Rule it out. But after several hours, I go anyway, walking in silent sock feet, so as not to disturb the ghosts in the quiet emptiness of the house. On the entryway table, I find a hunting permit. I'm holding it gingerly in my hands when there's a knock at the door.

"It's you," I say.

"Haymitch wouldn't let me leave until yesterday," Peeta says. "By the way, you should pick up the phone." He's frowning slightly, as he takes me in.

I make a halfhearted effort to push my tangled hair away from my face, and I feel defensive. "What are you doing here?"

"I said I'd come as soon as I could. I brought this, too. For her," he says. "I thought we could plant it by the house."

I look at the potted bush he holds out to me, and I see that it's an evening primrose. The flower my sister was named for. I nod, my throat tight.

We plant the primrose by the front door, sharing a spade, and Peeta's watering it when Gracie Sae shows up to cook dinner. She smiles when she sees Peeta. We eat dinner together, and I decide to finally take a shower and change my clothes. We sleep in my bed that night, fending off nightmares like we did on the press tour. In the morning, I tell him I'm going hunting, and he smiles.

I track a couple of deer in the wildlife refuge, but I don't manage to bring one down. I couldn't carry one back anyways, alone. But I fill my pockets and game bag with various edible plants and berries, and I enjoy explaining each plant's usefulness to Peeta when I return home. I hold out a handful of dandelions and smile at his surprised face when I tell him dandelions make a good salad.

I wonder if this is how we will be now. Peeta and I. Together. But I overhear him talk to Haymitch, postponing his scheduled trainings, and I know that we can't. Cinna calls and asks me to go to a tournament in California, and I tell him "maybe." And then there's Prim.

I hike to the meadow one day where I sit and think of her. My heart aches, and I weep for her loss, and our father's, too. I can sense that I'm not ready. Not ready to let Prim go. Not ready to embrace a life with Peeta. Someday, I will, though. I feel a sense of clarity when I later pick myself up and head home, my tears still streaming down my face.

My eyes are dry when I tell Peeta that I need time. Time alone. His face falls, but he nods in agreement. We sleep together one last time, kissing and sighing and caressing, our bodies moving in a tender rhythm. I don't know if it's a bad idea, but we can't help ourselves, gravitating towards one another like moths to a flame. It feels right, though, as we lie together later, wrapped in each other's arms.

I send him off the next morning with a kiss, because why not? His smile trembles, and he strokes my face. I know we're both wondering when we'll see each other again. After he's gone, I cry a little. Then I pick up my bow and arrows and head to the nearest archery range.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! There'll be another chapter next week. I really appreciate all the follows and favorites! Thank you so much!


	4. Rio de Janiero 2016

Rio de Janiero 2016

 _Peeta_

On Saturday evening, I hear a soft knock, and I open my door to see Katniss. My heart thumps loudly in my chest, even though I saw her only a few months ago. We see each other every now and then. But this, this time, might mean something more. I can sense it.

"Hey," she says softly, sadly.

"C'mere," I say and pull her into a hug. We stay that way for a few moments.

"Thanks," she says, pulling back, and looking at the room. "Where's your roommate?"

"Off somewhere, I don't know," I answer. "Probably exploring the Olympic Village. Or eating," I tease. It's not fair. "He wrestles 125 kilogram freestyle."

"Thresh?" Katniss asks, and I nod, smiling. "We qualified by the way," she continues. She gives a small smile. "For the women's team finals tomorrow."

"That's great!" I grin. "Congratulations! Knew you would."

She smiles shyly, but then her smile fades, and she looks away. "It doesn't feel the same," she murmurs. "Not without her."

"She'd be proud of you, I know," I say seriously.

"Maybe," she sighs.

"She definitely would be," I insist.

Katniss just shrugs. "Do you want to hang out?" she asks, and my heart leaps. "You don't have any more training today, do you?"

"No more training until tomorrow," I say with a smile. "Want to watch a movie on my tablet? I put a lot of movies on there."

"Sure," she says.

We sit on the bed together, as I scroll through the movie options, before we decide on Jurassic Park. We're just to the part when they arrive on the island, when Katniss asks, "Is it okay if we lie down? I'm not comfortable."

"Sure," I reply. We shift longways and lie back. I hold out my arm, and Katniss nestles into my shoulder, just like we used to do. I wonder if she can hear my heart pounding, but she doesn't pull away. We watch the movie in silence, undisturbed, and as it ends, Katniss stifles a yawn.

"Want to watch another movie?" I ask, not wanting her to leave yet.

"No," she says, "but can I stay here tonight?"

I'm only somewhat surprised, certain that she can also feel the emotions and memories swirling. I blink at her, my heart thumping loudly, and say thickly, "Always."

We climb under the covers and Katniss snuggles up to me. I hesitantly smooth her hair with my fingers, and she sighs, eyes closed. We fall asleep. The next morning, Thresh smirks at me, but says nothing.

Katniss and I go to her women's team finals, and I watch as Katniss, Rue, and Madge win gold again. There's a larger media presence than the last Games, and the newscasters have started calling them the 'golden trio.' Katniss avoids the press, letting Rue and Madge answer the questions, keeping her privacy. But she weeps openly on the medal platform, and my heart goes out to her. She's surely thinking of Prim and what happened this time four years ago. She lets me dry her eyes after, and we even somewhat enjoy ourselves in the dining hall later, eating lunch and celebrating with her teammates. She and I go our separate ways for the afternoon, she to recoup and me to train, but we see each other again in the evening. She asks to stay with me again, and we curl up together to sleep.

She spends the days competing in women's individual preliminary rounds, and I spend them training. At night, she climbs in bed with me, and we fall asleep in each other's arms.

On Wednesday night, though, something is different. My roommate is gone, and Katniss trails her fingers across my chest and down my abs before reaching up to my face. She slowly caresses my cheek, then pulls my chin down until our lips meet. We kiss deeply, but languidly, as if half-caught in a dream. I wrap her slowly in my arms, my fingers stroking her back, our lips locked in a heated rhythm. My hands dip lower, and Katniss whimpers against my mouth. I moan in response, and she hooks her leg over my hip. All of a sudden, she's straddling me, and I'm panting.

"Are you sure?" I stammer.

"Yes," she says, smiling.

* * *

After, as our breathing returns to normal, I whisper, "I love you."

"I love you, too," Katniss whispers back.

* * *

In the morning, we go to Katniss' individual archery quarterfinals, and I watch as she slays the competition. The final round has just begun, when someone takes the empty seat beside me.

"This seat taken?" asks Gale.

I shrug, and he sits down. There's an awkward silence. We watch as Katniss shoots her first arrow. Bullseye. The Americans in the stands cheer, and the tension between Gale and I is somewhat relieved by our clapping for Katniss and Team USA.

"I hate myself for it, you know," Gale says abruptly as we sit back down. We both know what he's talking about. I'm silent. "She forgave me," Gale sighs. "Even though I don't deserve it." I think back to a year ago when Katniss called me to say she'd forgiven Gale. She had been terribly upset, and I had thought it may have been too soon for her to do that, even though I'm glad she did, to help her move on. But Gale's right. He doesn't deserve her forgiveness. We all know he doesn't regret it, no matter how bad he feels about it. He would do it again if he had to. For Olympic archery gold.

Gale sighs again, glancing at me. "So you and Katniss, huh?" he asks, a somewhat pained expression on his face. "I always knew it'd be you."

Did he now? I feel a bubble of anger burst inside me. "How about yourself?" I ask pointedly.

"Engaged actually," sys Gale quietly.

I'm surprised for a moment. Then I say, "Congratulations," trying to soften the hardness of my voice. It doesn't really work.

"Thanks," says Gale, subdued. "We're happy together."

I nod, before giving him a brief smile. "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks. I'm happy for you, too."

Another cheer goes up from the audience, and we turn our attention to the archery field to see Katniss' second arrow is a perfect 10.

"She's something else," says Gale.

"Best in the world," I add.

"Aren't you as well?" Gale asks, turning towards me.

I keep my eyes on Katniss as she loads her last arrow and pulls back the bowstring. "I'll let you know after the freestyle wrestling finals next Friday," I say with a smile, and Gale chuckles.

The arrow flies into the bullseye for the third time, and the crowd roars. Katniss lowers her bow and Cinna hugs her tight. She wipes away tears as reporters converge on her. It's the first U.S. women's individual gold medal won since the 1970s, and the American media is eating it up. Katniss is unable to avoid the press this time and stumbles through their interview questions, wincing at their use of Cinna's endearment, 'Girl on Fire.' She escapes to the medal ceremony, where she stands stoically, hand on her heart, listening to the national anthem. I turn to Gale, only to realize that he's gone. I sigh, relieved.

Later, Katniss and I bypass the parties throughout the Olympic Village, hand in hand, heading for my room. Thankfully, my roommate isn't there. We kiss feverishly. There are years of pent up tension behind the kissing, and when Katniss puts her hands behind my neck and grips my hair, I practically growl with desire. I grip her tightly before collapsing onto the bed in a lusty heap.

We're hungry for each other, our bodies making up for years of lost time.

"I'm sorry that it took me so long," Katniss murmurs one night.

"I would have still waited for you," I reply seriously.

Katniss looks chagrined, but says, "You don't have to wait any longer." She squeezes my hand, and I pull her closer.

"Katniss," I say softly, my lips close to hers. "This is my last Olympics."

She nods sadly. "I'm sorry, Peeta."

"Don't be," I say hastily, giving her a quick kiss and lying back. "I am so ready to be done with it all. It's been years of strenuous and time-consuming trainings, diets, and matches. I'm so tired, Katniss," I sigh. "Worn out."

"Okay," she whispers, smoothing back my hair.

I roll on my side to face her and take a deep breath. "I'm planning to start a bakery, my own bakery, when I get back from Rio." I watch her face carefully as she takes this in, but she only looks back at me with clear, silvery eyes.

"Where do you want to have your bakery?" she asks calmly, but I can feel her fingers tremble on my chest.

"I was thinking Richmond," I say with a small smile, and she smiles back and gives me a kiss.

* * *

 _Katniss_

Peeta and I have become inseparable since the women's archery competition wrapped up. I tag along to his daily trainings, furtively admiring his muscular body and feeling extraordinarily possessive. During these long hours, Peeta tries to include me, easily maintaining a conversation with me while running flat out on a treadmill or waving and smiling at me as he drags resistance weights. He spars repeatedly with some trainers whose sole purpose - it seems to me - is to get clobbered. They do little to fight back so as not to injure Peeta before the freestyle wrestling competition starts. Poor souls. I watch as Peeta flips one over his shoulders and then pins him down, rolling him over. Haymitch blows a whistle and calls it a day.

I've stopped paying attention when I'm startled by sweaty arms encircling me from behind.

"Gotcha," teases Peeta's voice at my ear, and I try to wriggle away from his sweatiness. He doesn't seem to care though, grinning at my mild-revulsion. I squeal as he lifts me up and carries me to the wrestling mat. He flips me over his head in a gentle facsimile of what he'd just done to that poor trainer. Unlike the trainer, I'm cradled carefully as I'm lowered to the floor, but my heart is racing. I'm mildly terrified, even though I know I'm completely safe.

"You're kind of scary," I admit, as Peeta grins down at me.

"Me?" he laughs. "I couldn't hurt a fly. You, on the other hand, are definitely deadly. Have you ever missed a hunting season?"

"No," I scowl.

"Oh no," he says, pretending to be worried, but failing to keep a straight face. "I think I got you got a bit sweaty."

I roll my eyes at him, but I'm not really annoyed. "Whatever. Thankfully, I only shoot deer. But you should keep an eye out - just in case."

"Absolutely terrified," Peeta says, grinning. "Now who's scary?" He sets me on my feet before pulling me close and giving me a long kiss.

The next day, Peeta tells me he wants to take me to see some friends of his that evening. "It's not a party, Katniss," he chuckles, when I hesitate. "It's not even in the Olympic Village. Come on," he coaxes with a smile. "I'd like you to come."

"I was going to go anyways," I assure him, with a smile. "Don't worry."

A couple hours later, we're in an elevator of one of the fanciest hotels in Rio, rising towards what seems like the penthouse. We arrive at the presidential suite, and I balk.

"Who are we meeting, Peeta?" I ask, somewhat alarmed.

He laughs at my expression. "Don't worry, it's not a foreign leader," he teases, raising his eyebrows. "Come on."

I'm not sure what to expect, but I'm definitely not expecting Finnick Odair, who answers the door. He beams at us and ushers us inside. I stumble into the suite, surprised and confused.

"So glad you could come," Finnick is saying happily. "Can I get you anything to eat or drink?"

I shake my head, and Peeta says, "Just water, thanks. Watching my weight before the weigh in."

"Sure thing," says Finnick, smiling, as he gives a glass of water to Peeta. "I'll just, uh," Finnick grins wider, if that's possible, "I'll go get him." Peeta grins back, while Finnick heads across the suite and disappears behind a closed door.

"Hi Peeta," says a soft voice, and I glance to where a lovely woman with wavy dark hair and green eyes is rising from the couch. "And you must be Katniss," she says shyly.

Peeta gives her a hug. "Good to see you, Annie. How are you?"

"Oh, you know," she smiles. "Just getting into the swing of things with a five-month old."

It's then that Finnick returns cradling a baby in his arms.

"I hope you didn't have to wake him," says Peeta hastily.

"Oh, no," says Finnick. "He was just starting to fuss. Let's sit down."

We all sit on the couch, and Peeta sets his glass down to accept the baby from Finnick. I'm taken aback by the look of absolute joy on Peeta's face as he holds the baby tenderly. I feel my chest tighten, and then my heart sink. I watch him as he tentatively touches the baby's tiny fingers. Peeta is wonderful with the baby, coaxing a wide smile and even a gurgling laugh. Finnick and Annie praise his finesse, and I slowly, sadly lean back into the cushions. Thankfully, they're all too preoccupied with the baby to notice my dejection. I had known that Peeta loved kids; he is very attached to his nieces and nephew. But it wasn't until this moment that I was aware just how much he loved children. My heart clenches as I think that he doesn't know my feelings about children. How I've planned on never having them. Not when there's a genetic predisposition to brain cancer.

I make an effort to take a turn holding the baby, and I find myself smiling. The baby smiles back, revealing pink gums. Peeta looks on adoringly, and I feel my heart break a little when I think that I'll have to tell him.

I'm quiet in the taxi back to the Olympic Village.

"What's wrong, Katniss?" Peeta asks, squeezing my hand.

I'm not ready to tell him yet, so I say, "I didn't know you knew Finnick Odair."

"Yeah, we've been friends for a few years now, but we don't often see each other. I didn't tell you, because I didn't think you'd approve." He gives me a smirk. "But he's not what he seems. Don't you think?"

"Yeah," I agree.

We're both quiet for a little while. After we have gotten through security at the Olympic Village, Peeta asks, "Are you going to tell me what's really bothering you?"

"I don't want children," I blurt out. I quickly look away so as not to see his disappointment.

He's silent for a moment, and then he grabs my hand. I still won't look at him, so he cups my chin and lifts up until our eyes meet.

"It's okay, Katniss," he says, then purses his lips.

"No, it's not," I say, tears pricking my eyes. "You - you want kids... babies."

Peeta is silent again, absently stroking my chin with his thumb. "Perhaps we can revisit this another time," he says slowly.

"Peeta," I say desperately. "I'm not risking our children getting cancer."

Saying 'our children' has had an effect on Peeta. I see him mouth the words 'our children,' and a small smile edge onto his face. I try to tug him back to reality.

"Cancer, Peeta!" I exclaim. "Any children of mine could get cancer. Like my dad... and Prim."

"You can't be sure of that, Katniss," he says.

"I'm sure enough not to risk it," I retort.

"Katniss, I don't want to rush things - we're just finding our footing right now. It's a bit soon to be talking about kids, okay? We've not even talked about... marriage. Let's just focus on being together finally. The rest can wait."

I know he's lying. He's been waiting for years. He'd love to rush things. "Peeta, you know that's not true."

He sighs, then puts both hands on my shoulders, squeezing gently. "What's true is that I'm in love with you, Katniss, and all I want is to be with you - more than anything. Always. Even if that means no kids. You're all that matters. Am I hoping you'll change your mind at some point? Yes. But if you don't, that's okay, too."

"I just don't want you to resent me later," I say, and my chin trembles.

"I could never resent you, Katniss," he assures me. He leans in for a kiss. As his lips press against mine, and he wraps me in his arms, I wonder if I could change my mind about children.

Maybe I could.

The rest of the week passes without mention of children. I still go along to all of Peeta's trainings, and when he's not training, we sight-see around Rio. We ask a tourist to take a picture of us at the feet of Christ the Redeemer. We sit in the sand on Copacabana Beach, and I totally go for a swim, although Peeta balks because of the warnings to Olympic visitors about the water contamination.

"Come on," I wheedle. "Just your toes."

"Nah," he smiles. "Unlike _you_... I haven't competed yet, Katniss. _You're_ free to risk your health willy-nilly," he smirks.

"Oh, Peeta," I roll my eyes. "Just don't swallow it."

He won't budge though, sitting on one of the towels we brought while I run through the waves.

Friday arrives, and Peeta is business-like as he approaches the competition. No visible nerves, simply dispatching his opponents with efficiency. I sit in the stands with Finnick, Annie, and their baby, his tiny ears carefully protected from the roar of the crowd with miniature sound-cancelling headphones. In between fans approaching Finnick for an autograph or selfie, we watch as Peeta makes it to the final round.

"Atta boy, Peeta!" Finnick hollers when Peeta is announced as entering the final round to face Brutus Vaitkus of Lithuania. "You got this!"

Annie has just returned from the restroom to change the baby, and I offer to hold him. She smiles, a little relieved, as she hands him over. I hold him close, bouncing him a little as he's fussing in the transfer from Annie to me. I check his headphones are secure, then turn my attention to the mat below.

Peeta and Brutus circle each other, seeking an opening. Brutus makes the first move, charging at Peeta and and grappling with him. Peeta is dominant, though, and Brutus can't gain the upper hand. Seemingly with ease, Peeta flips him over his shoulder, holding Brutus down, before rolling him over one - two - three times. It adds insult to injury, but it wracks up the points. Rounds two and three don't go much better for Brutus, with repeat performances except for the double-leg takedown in the final round. Brutus can't mask his frustration, as Peeta is handily declared the winner.

The arena cheers, then gasps as Peeta takes off across the mat, bounding up into the stands. I'm wide-eyed and startled as he reaches me and wraps his arms around me and the baby, pressing kisses to my cheek. Finnick and Annie laugh and clap. I catch a glimpse of the jumbo-tron where we're all clearly visible. I bounce the baby again as he starts to cry from all the chaos. Peeta strokes the baby's cheek before clasping Finnick's hand, and giving Annie a hug.

"Congratulations, man," grins Finnick. Annie smiles and nods in agreement. She takes the baby back and pops a pacifier in his mouth. Peeta kisses me full on the mouth before disappearing down the stairs to the medal ceremony. I stand blinking, stunned and speechless, vaguely aware that all eyes are on me.

The cameras return to Peeta, though, for the medal ceremony. He beams as the gold medal is placed around his neck, and his eyes find mine as the national anthem begins. He's surrounded by reporters after the ceremony, as they had been unable to keep up with his foray into the audience. He announces his retirement from wrestling to the surprise and sympathy of the crowd. But Peeta merely smiles and laughs them off, saying it's an honor to have been an Olympian wrestler, but he's more than ready for the next stage of his life. The reporters ask if this has anything to do with Katniss Everdeen, and my face reddens as he just winks at them.

Peeta is jubilant afterward, but brushes off any invitations to celebrate. He thanks Finnick and Annie for coming to see him compete and wishes them a safe trip back to the states. We all hug one another and caress the baby's downy head, saying goodbye. We then head to the dining hall where Peeta joyfully eats a cheeseburger and downs a chocolate milkshake.

"No more weigh-ins, no more fasting, ever again," he grins.

I grin back. "Good. Now you can actually eat the cookies and cakes you bake."

"Can't wait," he sighs as he takes another bite.

After eating, we go to my room in the Olympic Village. We switched to mine earlier in the week after Madge left for home, and to give Thresh a break from our overbearing presence. Frankly, I don't think I'll ever be able to look Thresh in the eye again. As soon as we're through the door, Peeta spins me around, kissing me, walking me backwards to the bed. We topple down onto the bed, and Peeta settles between my legs, pressing kisses to my neck.

"God, I love you so much," he croons. He pulls my chin to his for a heated kiss.

When I get my breath back, I murmur, "I love you more."

He gets a glint in his eye before setting about trying to prove that _he_ loves me more.

* * *

We walk through Galeão International Airport the next morning, hand in hand, each pulling a suitcase, though Peeta has my archery equipment duffel slung over his shoulder, despite my protestations that I can carry it just fine myself. He's not to be swayed, so I tease, "Missing the Closing Ceremonies again? Why would you ever do that?" I laugh as he actually rolls his eyes.

"You know why," he says smugly. "It'd just be a time-consuming distraction from being with you."

"But it's your last Olympics," I say, any teasing gone from my voice.

"But not yours," he returns with a sideways glance.

I smile at him, and he smiles back. We grip our hands more tightly as we walk toward our flight's gate and shared future.

* * *

A/N: Just for the record, neither men's freestyle wrestling 74 kg or women's archery (individual or team) was won by the USA in the Rio Olympics. Iran won freestyle wrestling 74 kg, and, of course, South Korea won both the women's individual and team archery. Guess they need Peeta and Katniss on their teams!

Thank you for reading! I greatly appreciate all the reviews, favorites, and follows! Thank you! The next (and last) chapter will be published in a day or two, instead of a week.


	5. Los Angeles 2024

Epilogue

Los Angeles 2024

 _Peeta_

The arrow hits the target, and the crowd erupts. Bullseye, and dead-center. Or just about.

My heart is bursting with pride. Katniss is smiling, and I see her eyes search the stands. I wave one arm to help her find us, the other arm preoccupied with holding our toddler. She beams at me, and I grin back. I watch as she hands over her bow and gear to Cinna to get ready for the medal ceremony. Our toddler squirms in my arms. "Hey Rye," I tell him, smoothing his blonde hair. "Your mom just won her third gold medal." He blinks sleepy grey eyes at me, jet-lagged.

"But what about the team medals, Daddy?" asks our daughter, who is sitting next to me. "Can't forget those."

"Of course not," I smile, putting my arm around her and pulling her close. "Then that makes four more medals."

She nods, satisfied. She's very self-possessed for a five-year-old.

The medal ceremony gets underway, with Italy receiving bronze, and South Korea getting silver. Then, "Katniss Everdeen Mellark, United States of America" is announced, and she steps onto the tallest platform, bouquet in hand. We all stand as Katniss bows her head, receiving the medal, and the anthem begins to play.

"Oh, say can you see?" our daughter sings along, hand on her heart. She is already so much like her mother, even insisting on having her dark hair braided back to match.

I see Katniss blink back tears, and I know she's thinking of her sister. Another gold medal for Prim.

* * *

 _Katniss_

Peeta looks dashing in his suit and tie, complete with a handkerchief in his breast pocket and an Olympic rings pin on his lapel. The other sportscasters welcome him to the broadcast, and he opens effortlessly with a few jokes about the hazards of cross-country flights with small children. They all laugh and then dive into a discussion about the odds on freestyle wrestling medals. Peeta is a natural as always in front of the camera, eloquent and expressive in the discourse. I find myself wondering if he should be a broadcaster for sports news, instead of running a bakery and bistro. I run my fingertips across the gold medals wrapped around my neck, and then I start to think of Prim. What would she think of our lives? What would our dad think?

The children's antics somewhat distract me from my thoughts. They are playing in the private waiting room we are in, as I watch Peeta's performance on the flatscreen TV in there. The room's comfort and finery are lost on the kids who are running in circles, our girl with her dancing feet, and her brother struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. They laugh and squeal.

It was so hard for me to agree to having children, but Peeta wanted them so badly. When I became pregnant, I was overcome with fear that our child would get cancer. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could tame it. Carrying him was a little easier, but not much.

I dread their questions about Prim and my father, and when they will learn what killed them. How can I tell them without frightening them? Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other, and we can make them understand in a way that will make them braver. Hopefully, the genetic odds will be in our favor.

"Hey, you rascals," Peeta says, entering the room, grinning. Shouting happily, the kids run to him, and he scoops them up into his arms with a laugh. I laugh, too, and go over to him. He gives me a big kiss, and Willow reaches out her arm to hug me, too.

"How'd I do?" Peeta asks me, then he seems to notice my expression. "Is something wrong?"

I just shake my head. "You were amazing. You sure you want to stay a baker?"

He smiles at me, still studying my face. "Yup, my life is now one of baking. I'll be a contributor at the Olympics, and so on, but that's it." Somehow he finds a way to hold the kids and also caress my cheek. "It'll be okay," he adds softly, surmising my thoughts.

I don't know what I'd do without him.

Only Peeta can help me see that we can be happy and hopeful for the future of our children, that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. Willow and Rye bring us such joy, it would be a shame not to revel in it.

"I know," I smile. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he smiles back.

The End

* * *

A/N: The decision for the 2024 Olympics host city is literally any day now - but I didn't want to delay publishing the chapter. Of the contenders, I'm guessing LA, although if I'm wrong, I'll go back and edit that. I enjoyed researching for this story to make everything as realistic as possible.

Thank you for reading! Please review and let me know what you think. Thank you so much for all the follows and favorites! I really appreciate it! This story idea popped into my head while watching the Rio Olympics, and it has been so fun. I'm glad I could share it with all of you. - E


End file.
